


Red String Theory

by unorthodox_anthology



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU - Soulmates, Au - Reality, First Meetings, M/M, Scientific Bullshit, Soul Watches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unorthodox_anthology/pseuds/unorthodox_anthology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Quit fucking moping Gerard, you should be fucking glad I’m not gonna force you into a shower for this party”, Mikey grouses from behind his gloriously large mug of coffee as he stomps up the stairs in front of his brother.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Gerard just grunts and sticks out his Watch, letting Mikey read it’s flickering blue numbers under the kitchen light.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>14 hours, 31 minutes, 10 seconds. 9. 8. 7. 6.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Oh”, Mikey said. “I guess you should shower then.”</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Fucking soul mates, jesus”, Gerard grumbled as he dumped way to much sweetener into his coffee.<i></i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Red String Theory

“Oh, mother fucker, Jesus, Mikey!”

Mikey looked up from his Frankenberry and peered at Gerard though his dirt-encrusted glasses with a perfect poker face. “Yes?”

“Fuck you! You know I don’t want one!”

Gerard was hung-over and angry. No, beyond angry, he was _upset _, which was a pretty big deal, if he was upset with Mikey.__

“You’re the one who signed it. Ray and I couldn’t physically pull you away from the goddamn clinic. Wasn’t much else we could do. Patient consent and all”, Mikey sighed, resting his cheek on his hand, stirring at his soggy cereal.

“Fuck you still”, Gerard whined, plopping down on a chair and letting his head fall forward onto the table with a loud thud. The movement caught the plastic slit in his wrist, pulling the skin in an odd way. Gerard huffed out a breath and glanced at it.

There it was. Stupid fucking plastic thing, nestled in his wrist, surrounded by red and sensitive skin, ticking away. The whiteness of it made Gerard’s skin look practically luminous, and the blue numbers racing though the timer.

_1 week, 3 days, 11 hours, 32 minutes, 21 seconds. 20. 19. 18. 17. ___

Gerard groaned.

~*~

Some years ago, some asshole discovered the secret to love. Or at least that was how it was advertised. 

This dick-wad had managed to figure out what he called the “Red String Theory”. He built on the idea of the Greek beliefs of the red string that tied the two halves of one soul together, and Freud’s id, ego and super ego theories. He theorised that, given enough information, one could deduce who, where, and when a person would meet with their “soul mate”.

It was a highly theoretical idea, but had a surprising amount of supporters. Many large companies and celebrities funded Dr Skiwoski’s work, and eventually he came up with a scientific formula. 

It was a whole munch of numbers and short hand symbols, but basically with boiled down to this – you enter a whole bunch of information into a the computer program, like your name, date of birth, gender, sexual orientation, where you were born, all that jazz. You then elaborate on those basic facts into larger detail, such as musical preference, political opinions, the appearance of people you usually go for, hobbies and that shit. Once you’ve done all that crap, you enter a brief history of your life, so the computer can work out where you’re likely to be when you meet this ‘mate’ of yours. 

Of course there’s a whole load of variable data, things that can go wrong. Accidents can affect the formula – it’s no way near 100 per cent fool proof. And once the program was funded by the government, everyone who had a Watch and entered the ER also had to have their time reset, containing this new information. 

People still managed to trick the formula though. There were a surprisingly large number of suicides of those with Watches, 83 per cent more than those without. And of those 83 per cent, a large portion had a zeroed time. When your Watch Zeroed, either you met you mate, or your mate had died. There was actually more chance of you not finding your clinically decided soul mate than there was of locating this person.

Yet still people flocked to the idea, thousands getting plastic slips sewn into their skin. In the past years, it was common to see people waiting in the sides of streets, in clubs, in schools, libraries, stores, just staring at their Watch click away, with stupidly blissful expression on their faces as the world passes them by.

Gerard thought it took out all the romance in love. First dates became less flirtatious, and more like a business transaction. Marriages happened over night. People from Before divorced in record numbers when their Watches didn’t match up. The slow feeling of falling in love became a redundant idea, a fantasy. 

~*~

Gerard spent most of his ‘Counting’ time, as it was called, in the basement, moping around, watching shitty movies and eating too many Doritos with too little salsa. He couldn’t draw, shower, jerk off, _fucking breath _without practically feeling his Watch ticking away. He caught himself scratching at it in his sleep, trying to claw it out.__

Eventually Mikey came down the stairs, plonked his ass on Gerard’s chest and said,

“I’m having a party tomorrow and your coming because if you don’t, I’ll fart on your face. Again”.

“Ugh” Gerard said, struggling for breath under the surprisingly soft butt of his brother, and _fuck _, Mikey was gonna make him socialize. Gerard pushed at Mikey’s hip, whom thankfully slid off onto the bed.__

“I’m not joking Gee”.

“But my Watch –“

“Shouldn’t let you not go and have a fucking fabulous time at a fucking fabulous party hosted by your fucking fabulous brother”.

“Har har”, Gerard mumbled. He brushed a greasy lock of hair behind his ear, where is caught on his Watch. He frowned.

“I don’t fucking care if you sit in the corner all fucking night like a loser, just get out of the Batcave and try to be a normal human being”, Mikey said, poking Gerard in the thigh with his toes.

“Normality is overrated”, Gerard replied automatically, sitting up. “And I’m not cool enough for a Batcave” he added as he slumped against Mikey’s shoulder.

“You so aren’t” Mikey agreed, nudging the remote with his knee. “What are we watching?”

“Zombie Strippers”, Gerard says, grabbing the bag of caramel popcorn from the floor.

“Lame”, Mikey said, relaxing as Gerard pillowed his head on his brother’s thigh. 

_1 day, 13 hours, 19 minutes, 39 seconds. ___

Gerard sighed.

~*~

When Gerard woke up the next morning, there was a slimy feeling in his stomach and a thick one in his head. Maybe those Cheetos weren’t the best thing on cold pizza at midnight.

Mikey came thundering in, saying something about IHOP and coffee and get the fuck up. Gerard groaned and he pushed away the sheets, feeling that stupid fucking Watch tug at his skin. He wanted to yank the fucking thing from his skin and watch himself bleed out, just to say ‘Fuck you!’ to the Watch.

“Quit fucking moping Gerard, you should be fucking glad I’m not gonna force you into a shower for this party”, Mikey grouses from behind his gloriously large mug of coffee as he stomps up the stairs in front of his brother.

Gerard just grunts and sticks out his Watch, letting Mikey read it’s flickering blue numbers under the kitchen light.

14 hours, 31 minutes, 10 seconds. 9. 8. 7. 6.

“Oh”, Mikey said. “I guess you should shower then.”

“Fucking soul mates, jesus”, Gerard grumbled as he dumped way to much sweetener into his coffee.

~*~

True to his word – or Mikey’s, whatever – Gerard sat in the corner of the lounge, nursing a luke-warm Bud, watching Gabe attempt a personal record for the most hook-ups in one night. It was distracting enough for a moment – “I see you Mikeyway! I got a dick that needs’a grinding!” - up until a weird sensation crawled up his arm, like a static shock all up his forearm, sharp and stabbing. 

Gerard looked down at his throbbing wrist and felt his blood run cold at the sight.

The blue numbers had changed to a vivid red, bright and bold and frightening.

_1 minute._

59 seconds.

58 seconds.

57 seconds.

__

__

_‘Oh shit’, _Gerard thought, his heart kick starting at a rapid pace as he watched his Watch countdown his numbers.__

Panicking, Gerard scrambled to his feet as battled his way across his the teeming mass of bodies, his thoughts running through so fast he couldn’t catch a glimpse of them.

_What if his Mate is abusive? What if they’re not right for him? What if they’re an alcoholic? What if his mate is unreliable, untrue, disappointing?_

__

__

There’s a shove against Gerard’s shoulder, a loud drunken yell in his ear, a whoosh sound and a fist in his eye. A weird shiver breaks over his skin, and then nothing.

_19 seconds._

18 seconds.

17 seconds.

__

__

~*~

Gerard wakes up with an aching eye, a sore shoulder and the worried tone of someone’s voice in his ear. He’s leaning over Gerard, who, _huh _, is on the floor. The guy is shaking Gerard’s shoulder, _the sore one, _and calling out for him to wake up.____

“Fuck up dude, I’m awake”, Gerard mumbled, swatting sluggishly at the guy’s arm. He wraps his arm around Gerard’s shoulders and forces him into a sitting position against the ratty couch. Gerard’s face throbs.

Now that his vision isn’t swimming much anymore, he can make out the guy’s face. It’s a pretty cute face – scruffy brown hair, worried hazel eyes, soft looking skin with a hint of stubble. 

“Dude, I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you, fuck, just –“

“Wo-ah”, Gerard says, the guy’s face suddenly really close to his and then really far away. His voice sounds nice.

“You okay man? I didn’t hit you that hard, did I? Seriously, holy shit, only I would accidently smack up Mate, jesus christ”.

“What?” Gerard slurs intelligently. The guy is currently petting his face, and has really distracting lips that are pierced, holy fuck. _Now is not the time to get unexpected boners Gerard, _he silently scolds himself. _That shit wasn’t cool when you were 12, it’s not cool now.___

__

__

The Cute-Guy-With-Nice-Lips smiles hesitantly at Gerard reached out for Gerard’s arm and twisted his wrist around. The Watch was blank but for a little blue plus sign.

“Huh”, Gerard thought. He glanced over at Cute-Guy-With-Nice-Lips who was smiling tentatively. He held his wrist next to Gerard’s, also blank with a soft plus sign. The blue symbols glowed brightly as Cute-Guy-With-Nice-Lips brushed his fingers over the edges of Gerard’s Watch. 

“This isn’t exactly how I pictured meeting you”, Gerard mumbled. His ass was getting sore on the hard wooden floor and people still moved around them, flashes of skin and denim. Cute-Guy-With-Nice-Lips grinned. 

“Me neither. But what can you do”. He gripped Gerard under the elbows as he stumbled to his feet, and _wo-ah, _they are really close all of a sudden.__

“I’m Frank”, Cute-Guy-With-Nice-Lips – Frank – said, eyes sparkling brightly.

“Gerard”.

“Gerard”, Frank whispers, and damn, Gerard’s name had never looked so nice on someone’s lips. “Well then, Gerard, I guess we’d better get some frozen peas for that eye of yours”, he murmurs, brushing a thumb cautiously over the soft skin. Gerard shivered.

“Sure”, he replied, following Frank’s clasped hand into the kitchen. He had a feeling that he’d probably be following Frank around more from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the film In Time.
> 
> I've had really shitty super extended writer's block (seriously, from, like April) so this is my attempt at getting back into the swing of things, as it were. Let me know what you think, I love comments and criticism.


End file.
